The Ramblings and Works of an Elderly Young Man

The men had continued riding forward, staying completely silent. All of them had seen corpses before; even some of them had slain men. But what concerned them is that a tribesman, whose voracity in combat was known but their forethought was lacking, had smashed their head into a tree until they died. No man did that. None of them had even heard of such a thing. In their minds, they began speculating about what could have driven him to do so. How far had he been running? Where did he come from? Were they due to face the same fate? Read more

The light storm from the night prior had left enough element in the ground to cause fog to roll over the field when the sun began to rise the next morning. Some coughing around camp, signifying a few coming out of slumber, and the feint smell of tired campfires filled the air. Some of the men had already begun packing up items onto their horses. Though they had made good time yesterday, they had further to go yet. As Relman woke, he saw Sigi standing in the same place as the night prior. Slightly bewildered, he also began to gather himself and get out of his makeshift bed. Read more

The next morning yielded overcast clouds, but they weren’t dark enough to warn of snow or rain. The countryside, and the surrounding foothills, kept the snow from the few nights prior, so the earth offered its own warmth to the sixteen men riding out north of Lord Rothgard’s castle. The provisions had been placed between most of the horses, and little was kept in terms of weapons and armor, spare for what every man would carry day-to-day. The horses walked at an easy pace while scaling the mountain. If things became hairy at any point later on, they wanted their horses in prime condition to leave as quickly as possible. The Goron didn’t relent, and they moved faster than man. But they would not get to the tribelands for a few days time at this pace. Read more

Fifteen men, including Thom and Relman, sat around the hall table in the keep. They had been chosen by proxy, and were awaiting the arrival of Sigi and Rothgard. Smalltalk, with occasional laughter, was around the great table, which had been lined with mead. No food had been placed, at least not as of yet. The hall, made of stone and arched supports, echoed gently as there were thick tapestries over the windows to help absorb the sound. Fires roared on either side of the halls, keeping it warm despite the onset of a clear, cold night. On a few of the walls hung hunting trophies, but the most prominent item was the banner that hung at the northern fireplace, depicting the coat of arms for the keep.

A door in the corner opened, and Rothgard walked through, followed by Sigi, bearing his black clothes and the large sword on his back. As the Lord went to sit at the head of the table, Sigi rested his sword near the hearth, going to stand by a fire while Rothgard looked over the men gathered. Read more

Sigi sat at the tavern again, eating his second breakfast while others in the tavern sat in complete silence. No one was there from the night prior, when Sigi had first arrived. Other people sat in silence, watching him. The word of his arrival, and who he was, had spread through the keep quickly. Their eyes didn’t bother him; he simply bided his time. Read more

The harsh weather had relented from the night prior, revealing a timberline outside the castle walls, and a clear day out east, where the cliffs gave way to the forest that Sigi had tracked earlier. A few of the workers were up early, the goats were out of their pens, moving to shake off the cold that was still biting. Though the winds of winter had passed, the chill of it remained. As the sun peaked out over the treetops to give some warmth to the small courtyard, the Lord of the near-fortress had studied it a bit more briefly before finishing his morning meal.

A few pounds of a fist came to his heavy door. He set down the goat milk that he had taken a few sips of. “What is it?”

“There’s a man here to see you, m’Lord. He stayed the night last night at the inn down near the gate.” This immediately raised flags with him. No one came during the winter months. And last night was particularly harsh. And then he felt it… this presence at the door. Goosebumps raised the hair on the back of his neck. He knew. Read more

I had written this many, many years ago. I believe I was 20 at the time, and I really hadn’t taken the time to proofread over go over my work at all. I am putting this up here for comparison in the writing styles that I had then, to what I have now.

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I awoke in a tent slowly, my eyes adjusting to the dark. It was night, and the wind was flapping against the tent, and I could hear the low talk outside. My ears strained to hear what was being said, and soon I heard all I wanted to hear for the past two years.
Victory.
The war was over.
I heaved a heavy sigh. I would finally go back home to Azironia, and see my friends and family. The idea excited me so much, I sat up. But the wounds hindered me, and I was back down on the cot. Soon I remembered everything I was involved in. The last battle was very hard and long; spells being cast, swords sparking, and peoples war cries that echoed in my ears. At the time, I was in my Elven primal state, a berserker rage, that cut through most that stood in my way. I picked up wounds doing so, and this was where I was being cared for.
But I couldn’t help but smile. The Great War was over, and I could go home. Home in the Elven wood of Azironia.
I looked around in the tent for my clothing and Elvish blades. I found both lying next to the cot, and slowly I picked up the blades. As I did, the rune-insribed blades faintly glinted in the candlelight.
I looked down at myself, examining my wounds. Apparently I fought well, as I had only one slightly big gash in my chest, but that was all, spare the scratches I earned. I leaned over to pick up my cloak, and I picked up some pouches containing herbs I would use to help heal myself with.
I pulled out some of the herb, and slowly stuffed it under the gauze, feeling the wet, swelling sore that had been dressed. Making sure I distributed it evenly, I pulled out my hand and wiped off the ooze with a towel nearby.
I was beginning to close my eyes when someone approached my tent. I was forced to squint my eyes from the light glowing from the camp fires as the tent was drawn open. I did not know who it was, even when the voice spoke to me.Read more

Somewhere, between the unrelenting clouds that blew snow around the trees, and the horizon that rose into mountainous cascades, the moon shone through occasionally. Its gaze descended through the flakes of snow that whipped about the trees, refracting itself off of the falling powder, and kissed its glow off the incandescent surface that gradually deepened as the night wore on. Though the terrain was flat, and the trees tall, no matter of earth would protect the woodland creatures or the ground from which it harvested from the cold bite of winter. This reminder of Skimir’s journey was no less harsh than the last.

No woodland creature dare come out into this cold blight that had set itself upon the land. Even the castle village that lay up on the hills to the west, while glowing with fires, was as still as ice outside, spare the wind that would rouse whistles from cracks and corners. Through the weather, though, trudged a man who may have been discounted a fool by most. No other man would dare brave this weather; yet his leather cloak and boots, his giant sword carried on his back, and the gloves, all black, seemed to be animated by a force that held no regard for the elements that tried to punish him for coming out. He moved forward steadily, only slowed by having to pick his feet up out of the hole they had created in the snow to step forward. The snow– it seemed, was in agreeance with the wind. Each step it tried to trap this broad and tall man, and each step it groaned as he successfully wrestled his foot from its grasp.

The man, unseen beneath his cloak, came upon a timber line, clearing out enough for him to gaze castle-ward, peering briefly before adjusting the leather mask he had applied to protect his face. Even though the moon shone bright at him, the cloak of this man seemed to devour the light before it reached his face, leaving him almost unrecognizable to any other that may see him. Slowly he trudged onward towards the village, eventually making an ascent of several hundred feet up trails where the wind tried even harder to combat him. But the man held no attention to its efforts, his feet now less hindered on the mountainside where the snow simply swept away.

I looked over at him. He was trying to search for some kind of response to what just happened. I knew I had a look of regret on my face. “Yeah, I am good. Just worried about the girl.” I was hoping that would cover it.

“Yeah, looks like she’ll be okay. She was hitting on some premium grade pot. Looks like this guy had all kinds of premium shit. Meth, pot, ex… you name it, it’s in there. But it’s good.” He stepped in front of me, looking back into the room. “Hey, Ty, the girl said she heard the growling too, but that it was coming from you.”

I looked back into the room for a moment. They were getting her a wool blanket. Her eyes averted mine when I looked at her. “We still have to see if she was really just smoking pot, Ed. You know how it goes.” She hadn’t. I could smell it. But it would buy me some time.

“Yeah, I know,” Ed replied. After a few moments, “You know Anderson is gonna be on your case about this tomorrow. You keep feeding him ammunition for him to shoot at you.”

“Fuck Anderson,” I fired back. “I’d give him ammo for a Desert Eagle and he’d find a way to make it into pellets. I’ll deal with him when the time comes.” Anderson was the sergeant’s assistant at the cop shop. I had no idea why he was there, except to piss people off. I turned back to Ed. “Who’s chatting with the neighbors?”

“I’ll get some guys on it.” He left back down to the stairwell. Everything sunk in around me again. The rain outside, the cops talking, the people down the hall guessing what it could be. The rats in the wall. It was time to leave. I started heading towards the stairwell. I took a few steps down it.

2:17 a.m. Possibly one of the most thoughtless stakeouts I have ever been on. We were sitting in the car, with the rain tapping against the roof like needles on my ears. It put my partner to sleep. But he was put to sleep by anything, and kept asleep by anything else. I looked over at him. His breathing was slow, but it was loud. Probably by the way his neck was turned.

I put my gaze back out on the street. The streetlight ahead of us gave off that orange glow, the rain becoming tainted by its light as it came down. A sidewalk beside it, and a fence beyond. I think there was an abandoned construction site next to us. I didn’t really care to look over at it. My eyes had been fixated on the entrance to the little projects complex a little further down the street on the left. No one was coming in or out because of the rain tonight. Just as well since I didn’t feel like having anyone else interfere with my operation.

Her scent still lingered in my nose. Another girl dead, neck cut open, cut like the other two. She smoked pot before she died, and she only used a speed stick for deoderant. No perfume or anything. But there was a smell on her, like the other two, that carried evil man about it like a rotten fragrance. When I smelled it on her, I had enough. I opted for the stakeout. No warrants or anything. I just did my own hunting to find out who this guy was. Homicide didn’t care much for the case. It was just another death in the projects with gang-related carelessly tagged on it. Read more